Go ahead and call me a fool, you’d be well within your right to, but we’re still doing it.

Kyra was smarter than to agree to it, of course. Let’s get you up to speed, actually.

Three days ago I said something like “Hey Kyra, wanna help me steal something?”

And she said something like “Fuck yeah, property is for theft, what are we stealing?”

So I told her “Oh, you know, just some ultra-classified documents right out of Warden Oleander’s own personal archive,” and that killed basically all her enthusiasm right then and there.

It should have killed mine, and yet, here I am, staring out at that imposing tower on the far side of the canal, its offshoots and challenges to the assumption of what one is meant to be able to do with concrete casting an odd shadow. It stretches out onto the surface of the dearsenated water standing between it and myself, as the rippling, liquid fake sun reflects from behind it, dull, scabby violet-red, and gentle on the eyes. Paliputra doesn’t tilt on its axis enough to have actual seasons, but the sun will dim and brighten on a rough schedule, which at least emulates seasonal affective disorder if nothing else. I can’t help but take it as ominous but I know it’s just my nerves.

But for Lurrah’s sake, I tell you I’m right to be this nervous. Getting past the front door is easy, provided you take no issue with the surveillance inside continuing to follow you out for a week or more after your visit. It’s basically a museum trip, if most museums had several office floors of background-checkers looking up the historical prevalence of your assprint as soon as the pressure sensors in all their cushioned benches bring it to their attention. Don’t think you can get out of it by standing either, they will find a way to record your presence; you’re an exhibit too, but studying you like one takes credentials most of the public doesn’t have.

I don’t know how long it is that I spend staring out, more so in the general direction of the tower than directly at it, before a hand laid on my shoulder snaps me out of it. It’s Nym, of course, unbothered by having to reach so far up to do it but at least my slouching against the low, crenelated wall makes it a little easier. At one of the low points in it, he mimics my posture, looking out, made inconspicuous by his change in attire.

He’s got the look of an auditor, clipboard and all, with a sharply fitted burgundy robe and oxidized copper regalia to match.

“You came prepared for the worst, I see,” I say, trying to maintain some levity. “Don’t you think your face is a little recognizable though?”

“Of course it is, but one person can wear many hats as they say, and this is a hat I’ve actually worn before, so to speak,” he reasons. “They won’t question me so much as long as we stay in the areas they expect me to stay in. That’s why we’ve saved the face cover for you.”

He hefts the bag in his other hand, flipping the cover open to briefly show me the headgear resting on top of a similar outfit. An elongated thing of wicker and brass, as if once a perfect circle, now creased down the middle at a sharp angle and pinched at the back to secure a large, reflective lens at the front with a few smaller ones placed irregularly about it. A generously proportioned, opaque veil helps obscure the rest of the wearer’s features.

“As long as we don’t let them look under that,” he continues, “and you don’t let them sample any of your very recognizable materials— you know, fur, saliva, don’t even use the restrooms honestly —they’ll believe you’re whoever I say you are, and then we can figure out how to send you off to snoop on your own while I keep up appearances.”

My ears droop. “…You mean you haven’t figured it out in advance, and you’re not coming with me?”

He chuckles. “More like we’re spoiled for choices. I’ve identified a few comfortable routes on my last visit, you know, the one I told them I’d have to come back with someone with keener eyes for? After that I’ll find a way to join you. Probably. But you know what to look for anyway, right?”

“Yeah, I have your map recorded,” I confirm. The storage platters in my spine spin faster as I review, immediately refreshing my memory with Nym’s map and all his notes. “Thank you, I shouldn’t have doubted.”

Nym laughs again, but this one allows just a bit of his own nerves to surface. “That’s just being smart, this is still as risky as anything we’ve done. I’m not gonna ask you to promise you’ll come out safe and sound… but I would like it very much if you would try.”

“I can promise that much, “ I assure him.

After taking a moment more to steel ourselves, Nym guides me onward. He helps me into my disguise, the helmet fitting a bit snug as it folds my ears back, and the linked copper squares resting heavy around my shoulders, but it helps me better comprise one half of a somewhat imposing duo to passively discourage questions from the raft crew that takes us across the canal. All the same, my tails shift anxiously against my legs within the straps binding four to each thigh, securing them beneath the robe while just the one sways freely, though obscured by a dedicated sleeve of its own.

I try to match his power walk as we head through the district on the other side, and do my best not to shrug as he takes all questions at one of the security checkpoints encircling a wide perimeter around the base of the tower and its auxiliary facilities. He ensures all attention stays on him, getting us to the front ramp without issue. Then again, it was only a civilian checkpoint, the kind anybody would routinely pass through, but the stakes feel so much higher when I’m pretending to be someone I’m not.

I don’t even know what my name is supposed to be.

“Nym,” I whisper without adjusting my posture.

“What’s up?” he whispers back, trailing off into muttering something to himself and writing something down; inconsequential but it’s a good cover.

“What’s my name?”

“You don’t need to worry about that, you’re going as a servile aberration; if they think you’re a machine they shouldn’t even try to address you.”

“Ohhh, good thinking,” I say, careful not to let my relief show through my body language.

“You’re doing great so far!”

I sure hope I am, but I would have been a lot more comfortable if I wasn’t hearing about this at the last possible minute.

Set into a triangular aperture is a set of large double doors, the kind so unreasonably large it’d be impractical for even the largest among dragonkind, nevermind a morph; to that end, there are a number of smaller doors set within it, one set of which Nym and I pass through without issue.

The inside is just like the illustrations in pamphlets convey, an open institute stretching multiple floors up around the concourse on the ground floor, gears clinking in perfect sync as elevators scale the dozen or so floors open to the public.

The sheer number of vigilants here doesn’t escape my notice though, nor does the tetrad of veiled, inscrutable casters set up in a raised station, panopticon-style, ready to countercast and lock down all use of unwanted magic at a moment’s notice.

At least we’re not the only ones here, there are plenty of people coming to enjoy the exhibits of everything experimental tech, to ancient relics leftover from when Paliputra belonged to the orbit of a real sun, to cultural artifacts exchanged between allied states. I’m sure all the forcibly taken things are either kept out of sight or have a lovely spin placed on the story of their acquisition.

There’s enough going on that nobody is particularly fixated on us, but counterintuitively, Nym changes that rather promptly, strutting across the caramel-colored mosaic tiles spider-webbing all over the floor, immediately making himself known to an attendant.

They turn, immediately fixing their posture and bowing reverently, their long lagomorph ears tracing an arc that nearly touches him. “Oh, prince Nymraylu, we weren’t expecting you again so soon!”

“That sort of oversight is exactly why I’m here,” he says, tapping his clipboard to once again assert that he does in fact have one and everybody will know, “but I’ll save my reprimands for your superiors, they should have kept you all better informed. May I?”

He gestures to a guarded elevator, and the attendant is so caught up in their mixture of surprise and relief that all they can do is bow even deeper while gesturing unsteadily in the direction of the elevator.

Nym and I board the platform, and he taps a few switches on the panel, already knowing the level and section he needs to get to. We make it no more than three floors up before the ring-shaped track shifts us a quarter-turn counterclockwise around the concourse. The heavy, reinforced glass doors silently slide open again, letting in the pair of guards who had been there ready and waiting for us. They flank Nym and turn again, which thankfully puts me behind them to avoid further scrutiny.

“For your protection, sir,” the reindeer says, getting a nod from her rooster companion.

“It’s very much appreciated,” Nym says, not appreciating it very much. This was an expected complication, but a complication nonetheless.

The rest of our ride goes by in silence, they make no conversation with Nym, and I expect the idea to do so with me doesn’t even cross their minds. Still, there’s a tension in the air to the point that I can feel it urging my posture ever stiffer, and it positively smacks of frustration that I cannot let my relief show as the elevator buzzes to a stop and we disembark. The guards lead the way of course; they already know where Nym is supposed to be going, even if it differs from where he wants to be.

Corridor after corridor takes us along, and though the guards seem like they wish Nym would make conversation with them, they make no effort to start, mindful of their station before anything else, nevermind the fact that the fox they idolize as a ruler is, at best, an auditor, and it’s all he tries to come off as.

I dearly wish I could review the map again at this point but the sound it would make would almost certainly draw attention. After so many twists and turns I’m starting to lose my way; the patterned floor becomes dizzying to look at and I’ve actually lost count of how many offshoot doors we’ve passed. But does that matter so much? Oleander’s sanctum isn’t even on this floor. Full honesty, I don’t remember what floor we’re actually on but I know it’s not the one we need.

We are led, after so long that both comfort and convenience have abandoned us, into one of the chambers in which the actual archiving is done, a destination Nym decided on and scheduled for in advance. The guards take a position on either side of the door, and the rooster speaks up, “Take as much time as you need, sir.”

“Well, I didn’t plan to be long in here,” Nym says, putting his hands on his hips with as much bombastic enthusiasm as he can muster, “but it seems we have our work cut out for us! Will you two be standing by?” It’s as investigative as it is courteous; between the four of us, I do not imagine a single one of us actually wants them to be here.

“For your protection, sir,” the reindeer says, matching her earlier cadence as if rehearsed countless times.

Nym says nothing as he nods, then turns on a heel-rim, signaling with a quick gesture that I should follow as he wheels into the aisles. The moment we are out of sight and earshot, he quietly lets out a breath carrying so much extra tension. His body language alone is ample confirmation that this isn’t going nearly as well as he’d like it to.

He starts muttering to himself as he picks a shelf at random, pulling out a bin and selecting a folder, but as I listen I realize he’s trying to discreetly communicate with me as before.

“...and so we start with this one, and perhaps we check the other side and see where that goes…maybe scout ahead and figure out a way to start ticking boxes about a separate project…”

I resist the instinct to nod, taking a few steps past him as soundlessly as I can manage and finally reviewing the map. There is another door at the edge of the other side of the room, 90-degrees from our entrance as per the chamber’s quarter-ring-shape and hopefully out of view of our escorts. I don’t like being out of Nym’s sight as well, but at least I know I’m that much further away from prying eyes. Well, I guess I’m the prying eyes here, but you know what I mean.

Cameras, to the extent of my knowledge, rarely count for much; clunky biotech with large error margins, or pure artifice that only takes a quick snapshot every so often for later review. Actual optical anatomy works so much better, but their need for rest and frequent maintenance makes their application both limited and expensive.

Even under the unreliable watch of comparative junk, as paranoid as I am now I cannot help but be mindful of them, stopping at the edge of the last aisle to behold the triangular door from a distance. Locked and barred, predictably, but it’s all from this side, hence our roundabout way of getting here.

How quietly can I do this? And how safely, for that matter? If there are runic countermeasures, they are not visible, and I can’t exactly ping them safely; as thoroughly enchanted as this place is, they’d instantly know someone cast, and based on my cover lack-of-identity, I shouldn’t be able to do that.

But not everything has to be loaded up with arcane protection, right? It would be wild if someone  who wasn’t supposed to be in here even got this far without actually being chaperoned under false pretenses like we did. It really could be as simple as just a couple of wooden beams slotted into place, and all I’d have to do is heft them aside…

Not that I’m going to get the chance to.

I did not realize how close I got to the door as my barely-formed thoughts flocculated, hands outstretched to go into action in the event I ever actually reached a moment of decisiveness, so now here I stand, petrified, as alarm bells fill the room. Maybe every room.

We screwed up, didn’t we? Oh gods, we absolutely screwed up.

Enough panic circulates that I manage to quickly backpedal, standing among the shelves, and I nearly shout as I feel hands clap down on my shoulders.

“We need to go, now.” It’s Nym, thankfully; despite the urgency in his voice it’s still relegated to a harsh whisper. He takes his hands off me just in time to turn toward the guards with his act back in place as they approach us.

“Sir, you need to be following us! Your assistant will find its way to storage on its own,” the reindeer insists. She and her cohort now take him by his shoulders, marching him off.

I would have been comforted by even a little glance back in my direction, but I understand why he couldn’t do that. But what do I make of this new situation? On the plus side, it wasn’t us. On the other, I now have no idea what is going on.

Another moment to review my map directs me toward storage on this floor; I walk in as measured a manner as I can, only speeding up as I see other assistants absolutely hauling it on their way to storage. I know what I’m in for, it’s not going to be cozy; a barely-padded rail under each arm, retracting me into some out-of-the-way rack where I won’t be intrusive… but maybe I don’t have to stay there for long.

This is actually perfect, right? Once I know everyone else is hiding or evacuated or whatever this is, I can make my way toward Oleander’s little hideaway. For now, I move with my assumed brethren to the racks where they keep us.

The fact that they genuinely do not have anything more than rudimentary brains is the only source of comfort to me as I place all my weight in a somewhat less-than-ergonomic position on twin, slanted rails, nestling into a divot meant to hold us on a level plane. At least they don’t have to process discomfort, if they did I reckon there would be lots of complaints about this.

I wait a few minutes on the lowest rung, using the tips of my toes to help support my weight, however marginally, but when I’m sure the last straggler is well on their way out, I nudge my way out from behind the bulky cover that encloses the rack and bound off, underarms already feeling the relief.

I’ll take the rampwell, it’s only…
I can feel my determined expression slacken slowly as I fully internalize how many floors I have left to go to reach #30. But it’d be bad if I got caught out on an elevator provided they’re even still working, wouldn’t it? It’s 16 perfectly normal, reasonably spaced floors even for my awkward size class. It’ll be good cardio, I’m pretty sure that’s still something I need even with a fancy transdimensional ticker.

Regret catches up with me after about five landings. The remaining several are spent as a gradually slowing fight for breath, a reflex I have yet to conquer. I ferment more efficiently than a living person does when oxygen doesn’t cut it but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel the burn. I would have loved to have been in better shape back when I first kicked the bucket, but you know what they say about hindsight.

Staggering out onto the last landing and through the arched doorway, I slowly regain my composure though my whole body burns just as bad as my lungs, and I can only hope the veil stifles the sound of my panting. Even through the oily fog collecting on the lens obscuring my face, I can make out a curvature to each of the closed stalls, reaching several meters up, all the way to the ceiling, compensating for the massive, circular sanctuary ahead, its rustic wood panels no doubt concealing a protective shell that would keep its contents perfectly intact even if the rest of the tower were razed to the ground.

I judder to a stop at the final ring of floorspace surrounding the imposing exterior. The high angle of its amber-colored light fixtures repel even my shadow from touching it. Their hue, somehow gentle and intrusive at once, lends a sense of total stillness to this place, even beyond the tangible absence of personnel, as though it itself could have been a photograph like the one cameras could take. I hadn’t even been thinking about those until now, but doing a quick, not-at-all conspicuous glance about the area, I can’t discern any. I guess Oleander must not like having eyes pointed at his things, even for their safety. It really makes you wonder about the validity of a surveillance state like this, but that’s a tangent I’ll have to slip onto the bottom of the pile of all those other tangents I’ve yet to get to, some other time.

If the map is right, there should be a hidden entrance right over…

“Merion!”

I shake myself out of my brief trance as Nym whisper-shouts my name, waving from the far end of the visible curvature to my right.

“How’d you get away?” I ask, running unsteadily over to him, trying not to show how winded I am. I’m not playing tough, I just don’t want to add to his worries.

“Well, the guards took me to a panic room. They didn’t really have any reason to suspect me while I turned the air in the room to CO2. Simple trick, low energy, and extremely reliable. They’re alright,” he assures, but he instantly picks up on my inadvertent body language. “Are you alright though? You seem out of breath.”

“That’d be all the running I did to get up here,” I admit.

“You could have taken the elevator like I did,” he says, unable to mask his amusement.

“You know… you’d think I would have. Did you figure out how to get this sanctum open?”

His ears fold. “It’s the wildest thing, Merion, but… it’s already open.”

My headgear doesn’t show it, but my own ears perfectly mirror his. “Does… does this feel a little too easy to you? The conveniently timed alarm, and now this?” I ask, beginning to suspect a trap. I don’t know how they would have planned for us specifically or even gone to such lengths when they could have simply brought the escort of guards down on us while we were unaware, but my paranoia is beginning to build quickly.

Nym shakes his head with hardly a thought, however. “Come with me. You’ll see why not.”

The ramp up to this floor felt like an easier trip, in its own way. Back then, I wasn’t really thinking about the complications beyond simple physical exertion, or what the need for an evacuation procedure could even mean for those who remained inside. I suppose I had assumed something like a fire that a specialized undead crew would have quickly put a stop to.

Bearing that in mind, I think my astonishment, first at catching the scent of, and then at seeing the half a dozen dead vigilants is forgivable. Each one was armored up and armed to the teeth, not that it did them much good. They sprawl about in well more than half a dozen pieces, scattered in front of the parted wooden panels, the heavy, off-white bulkhead once concealed there now stained an off-red in places by fresh vital fluids.

I’m not suspecting a trap anymore, but I sure don’t feel comforted by the evidence against it.

“Did you see what did this?” I ask Nym, lowering my volume to a proper whisper.

“No. I don’t even know if it left the sanctum,” he responds gravely. “Or if it wanted to.”

“Are we still doing this?”

He looks at me, steadying my gaze on him with a gentle grasp on the side of my wicker headgear. “You need this. I need this. I’m not leaving you now.”

As he takes my hand, I can’t help but feel somewhat flustered, but it dilutes the fear, just a little bit. Just enough that I don’t falter, as he leads me into the unknown beyond that gore-spattered gate.